Ornaments
by AlmondJoyz
Summary: Harry and Ginny's family gather to remember the past at Christmas time.


"Mummy, can I put up the special ornaments?" The little girl with red hair blue eyes looked up at her mother with matching red hair but deep emerald eyes.

The little girl was kneeling beside a box of ornaments housed in a velvet-lined box, waiting for the stories she knew would follow. It was a special time for the Potter family. Every year, the special ornaments would be the last ones to go up on the tree and then the stories about them would follow.

"You'll have to ask Gramma. It's going to be her first Christmas without him, Gwen." The girl's mother knelt beside her and stroked the curly red hair and looked into the bright blue eyes.

"I miss him."

Her great-grandfather had passed away nearly eight months ago. She was had been extremely close to him, being one of the youngest great-grandchildren. A solitary tear slid down her face, landing on her lap.

"Me, too, Gwennie, me too." She placed a kiss on her daughter's head and looked up as the sounds of shuffled footsteps came across the carpet.

"Kathy, of course Gwen can put up the ornaments."

"Grammie!" Gwen stood and ran over to her great-grandmother, her favourite person in the world next to her parents. "Did you come with Papa and Daddy?"

Gwen took the old woman's hand and led her over to the settee in the sitting room, directly across from the large Christmas tree. She dashed across the room to retrieve the footstool and carefully placed her great-grandmother's feet atop the cushion and climbed into the woman's lap, placing a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

"Yes, your father and grandfather brought me. They should be back with the presents soon."

Ginny Potter had lived a long, exciting life but the last eight months had been lonely after Harry had died. The days without him stretched on and on, seemingly without end. While she loved the little ones and all her children and grandchildren, her will to go on was slowly fading away.

"What colour is my jumper this year?" Gwen's eyes lit up at the prospect of another Potter jumper. Gwen already had received a blue jumper, a green one, a lavender one and, last year, her favourite, a soft multi-coloured one, which she now wore.

"Gwen, I don't think Gramma made you all jumpers this year. She can't possibly make fifty-two jumpers at her age," Kathy Fletchley, Gwen's mother, replied,.

"My age? Don't you remember my own mother made jumpers for you all until she was one hundred and three! Don't take that tone with me, Kathleen Potter!" Ginny's smile belied the angry tone and the three of them burst out in laughter.

* * *

The house was filled to the brim with Ginny and Harry Potter's children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and three brand new great-great-grandchildren. The sitting room was expanded three times its normal size and settees and chairs were conjured to accommodate every one. It was a wonderful and joyous time. However, most palpable was the sense of loss of their patriarch. His three sons, all replicas of him, took turns taking care of their mother, while the two surviving daughters made sure Ginny was never without company.

"I think it's time for the ornaments," announced Arthur, the youngest son. "Whose turn is it this year?" Twenty hands shot into the air at the question along with a chorus of 'pick me!' "Mum, would you like to pick?" Twelve more hands went into the air.

"Well, Gwendolyn did ask me earlier. Gwennie, would you like to?"

The little girl beamed with pride and went to retrieve the box from the table, all eyes on her. Gwen gently picked up the box and went back to the tree where the family began to gather.

"William, if you please?" William Potter, a tall red-head with brown eyes, stood up and sat next to Gwen.

"Many years ago, Grandpa Harry did a wonderful thing. He defeated an evil man and made sure that generations after him would live in happy times rather than dark times. Grandma Ginny was there right with him," William told them as he gathered Gwen onto his lap.

"Don't forget Uncle Ron, Billy! Or Aunt Minnie! You know Ron never liked to play second fiddle to Dad." Everyone chuckled at James Sr.'s remark.

"Right, Uncle James," William said with a blush, an homage to his Weasley roots. "A good friend named Dean Thomas was an artist and wanted to make something special for Grandpa. So he asked Mr. Thomas to make Christmas ornaments for him, since Christmas was his favourite time of the year."

* * *

"Harry, c'mon. Christmas ornaments? That's a bit silly, isn't it?" Dean leaned back in his chair, a sceptical look on his face.

"My first Christmas at Hogwarts was the first time I ever felt like I had a family. So I want you to make ornaments about my time at Hogwarts."

Dean saw the look of determination on Harry's face and knew not to argue. Six years of living in a dorm room with Harry taught him that.

"Okay, Christmas ornaments it is."

* * *

"Now Grandpa Harry wanted each ornament to mean something and he took great care in choosing the design on each one. He always used to say that his life really started when he got on the Hogwarts Express. Does anyone remember why?" William looked around the room and spotted a brown haired girl of twelve, home from her first year at Hogwarts. "Sylvia?"

"Because he met Ron and Hermione on the train," Sylvia recited proudly.

"That's right," William said with a smile. "So it was only fitting that the first ornament was of the Hogwarts Express."

"Bill, you're forgetting something about the train, you know," reminded Liliana, William's mother and oldest daughter of Harry and Ginny. "Someone else was there, too."

"Ah yes," he answered. "There was a little red-haired girl who ran after the train because she was going to miss her brothers. But we all know who she was chasing!" Heads turned toward the matriarch, making her blush.

"That would be me," she admitted. "Go ahead, Gwen, put it on the tree."

Everyone watched as the eight-year-old placed the ornament on the towering spruce, a smile spread across her face.

"When it came time for the second ornament, I hear Grandpa had trouble convincing Mr. Thomas."

* * *

"Dean, do you ever work with feathers? Because we'll need some feathers for the next one."

"Well, I suppose I could," Dean answered, reaching into a drawer to retrieve a piece of parchment and a piece of charcoal to sketch with. "Okay, tell me what you want."

"Well, do you remember Fawkes?"

"Dumbledore's Phoenix? Yeah, mate. Sang like an angel when Dumbledore died." Dean began sketching the outline of a phoenix.

"And have it holding a sword."

"A sword? Why?" He stopped his drawing and look at Harry with a hard gaze. "What do a phoenix and a sword have to do with anything? There's no meaning behind it, Harry."

"There's meaning for me. And for Ginny."

Dean sighed. He hated it when Harry brought up Ginny. Even while he dated her, Dean knew that her heart truly belonged to Harry. There was no escaping it. When they eventually did break up, it wasn't long before Ginny wound up in Harry's arms. He knew he'd lost her that day forever.

"Okay, what does the sword look like?"

* * *

Gwen reached into the box and pulled out a beautifully delicate ornament made of bright red feathers in the shape of a phoenix. It was Gwen's favourite and the long tail feathers hadn't fallen out over the years as some might expect. With a gentle touch, she stroked the feathers with her index finger before hanging it a few feet from the train. The shiny steel of the sword twinkled in the lights that sparkled from the tree. Gwen stepped back to admire her work. 

"Anyone remember why he wanted Fawkes and a sword?" asked William.

Charlotte, William's daughter, chimed in before anyone else could, "The sword belonged to Godric Gryffindor and he used it to kill the Basilisk that was trying to kill him." Charlotte beamed at the crowd in pride.

"True, to a point. But what's the rest of the story?" William pointed to a shy, dark-haired boy sitting next to Uncle Sirius. "Thomas?"

With a brush on the head by Sirius, Thomas, aged seven, cleared his throat. "There was a bad man who made Great-Grandma do things," he said, barely above a whisper. "And Great-Grandpa and Ron went to save her." The boy got up and sat in Ginny's lap. "I'm sorry he did that to you. But Great-Grandpa stopped him, didn't he?"

"Yes, Tommy, he did. Fawkes made him all better. Phoenix tears have healing powers." She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. He looked exactly like Harry: green eyes, a messy mop of black hair and even glasses, although they were much more stylish than Harry's ever were. "I think he stole my heart that day."

"Then what happened?" someone asked. They all knew the stories well, but this was tradition and it would continue until infinity.

"In Grandpa's third year at Hogwarts, he learned about the Marauders. Can anyone tell me the names of the Marauders?" William smiled as every single member of James Sr.'s and Sirius' families raised their hands.

"All right, Ronald." A young man with brown hair and green eyes stood and made sure he had everyone's attention.

"The Marauders were a merry band of trouble-makers, famous for making The Marauders' Map. Speaking of which, who has it now?" Ron looked among his older cousins, who all shook their heads. "Now come on! It's a Potter heirloom!"

"If it wasn't for my brothers, it wouldn't _be_ a Potter heirloom, remember?" Ginny reminded them, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Right you are, Gran. The Marauders were Moony, dear departed Uncle Remus Lupin, Wormtail, whose name is not to be spoken…"

"Oh bloody hell, Ron. He's not Voldemort! His name was Peter Pettigrew!" Sirius Potter shouted at his grandson.

"Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew, Padfoot was my wonderful grandfather's namesake, Sirius Black, and last, but certainly not least, Prongs was my great-great-grandpa, James Potter." Ron sat down and began nudging his cousin Jack.

"Thank you, Ron." William nodded to Gwen to remove the next ornament.

* * *

"Now this next one might be a tad difficult, Dean." Harry waited while Dean grabbed a new piece of parchment and a fresh piece of charcoal. "How are you at carving animals?"

"What kind of animals?" Dean asked sceptically.

"Well, a Labrador and a stag."

"Oh, you're not asking much are you?" Dean took a sip of tea.

"And put in a full moon. Do you think I should add a rat?"

Dean spat his tea into Harry's face. "Sorry, there, Harry. But a rat?"

"It's a long story."

* * *

The ornament in Gwen's hand wasn't your typical Christmas ornament. It didn't sparkle; it didn't light up; it wasn't light. It was a dark wooden piece, carved meticulously with the forms of a stag with magnificent antlers and a large, black dog with a full moon in the centre. Around the outside, the words a 'I. solemnly swear I am up to no good' were carved in a neat script.

"Uncle Will, can you lift me up, please?" Gwen asked in her little voice. William bent over and lifted the little girls under the arms, holding her on his hip.

"Where to, Gwennie?"

"There," she said, pointing to a branch near the top of the tree. It was her favourite ornament because it had a dog. She was raised up a bit higher and lovingly draped the ribbon around the branch. Once it was secure, William set her down on the floor next to the velvet box.

"The next one is pretty!!" Gwen squealed.

"But Gwen, we must never forget the story," her mother reminded her. "Isn't that right?"

"Very true," said Margaret, Kathleen's second aunt. "Kathleen, you tell it so well."

* * *

"Now I think you know what's going to be in the next one." Harry stood up from the chair in Dean's studio and began pacing. He never liked to talk about this time in his life.

"So how do you want to keep Cedric in it? I can do a badger or something like that." Dean began to draw, his hand scratching away at the parchment.

"No, no badger. I was thinking of the cup and his initials at the bottom. That's all I need on that."

"How about I do it in brass. The real one was an ugly carved wood, you know?" Dean got up and began rummaging around in a drawer, pulling out a thin piece of metal. "You're right, this is an important one."

* * *

"Grandpa once told me that Cedric Diggory stood for everything right and good in this world. When Cedric died, Grandpa felt evil all around him. No one trusted him, no one believed him. They said he was crazy. They even forgot about Cedric." Kathleen wiped a tear from her cheek and sniffed a bit before continuing. "He felt abandoned and angry all the time. It was a rough patch for Grandpa."

"But something fun came out of him winning the Tournament, right?" piped Seamus, Kathleen's Irish cousin. "Fred 'n' George got the shop, right? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was the best investment 'e ever made. Gramps tol' me that himself." Seamus smiled broadly, his Potter green eyes twinkling from underneath his wire-rimmed glasses. "In fact, they got some really kickin' shite these days." Laughter erupted in the room at Seamus' remark.

"Fred and George were naturals for business, weren't they?" Ginny mused, choking down the sob that threatened to erupt inside her. She was the last of her family alive, making this Christmas even more difficult to bear. Not only had Harry died that year, but Hermione as well. Ron had passed ten years beforehand, making him unknown to the majority of her great-grandchildren, making it even more difficult to bear since he and Hermione were unable to conceive. Ron doted on Harry and Ginny's family as if they were his own. He would have made a wonderful father.

"You okay, Mum?" asked James, Sr., who sat next to her. Ginny patted his hand and smiled weakly at her eldest. "Gwen, William, perhaps we should speed this along. I think Mum's getting a bit tired."

Gwen took the ornament from the box and placed the ornament on the tree, fingering the engraved initials 'C.D.' along the bottom. She stood transfixed, staring at the bright metal of the cup and remembered the story her mother told.

"Uncle Sirius, you tell about the next one," William told his uncle. "You'll do more justice to it that I would."

"Now in Dad's fifth year at school, he began teaching some of the students Defence because the teacher they had was a bit incompetent."

"Umbridge was a right old insane bitch, and don't you forget it!" Ginny said with all the vigour she possessed in her younger days. "Remember what she did to Harry's beautiful hands?"

"Mum, there are young children present, remember?" James reminded his mother.

"Oh pish posh! I always tell it like it is," Ginny muttered.

"Too right, Mum," Sirius added. "And that year, Dad lost his godfather, my namesake."

* * *

"Dean, do you remember that logo you made for the DA?" Harry asked his friend.

"Yeah. I've still got it, I think." Dean got up and rifled through a drawer.

Dean had drawn the logo, a circle with two wands crossed, back when they'd formed the original Dumbledore's Army. No one outside the group saw it, of course, but Harry had always liked it.

"You want this for the next one then?" Dean pushed the drawing across the table to Harry, who nodded at the question.

"But make one change, if you would," Harry said softly, emotion beginning to build inside him. "Add some initials to it -- 'S.B.' For my godfather." Harry's eyes dropped to the floor and he was quiet, eerily so.

"Sure thing, Harry. No problem."

* * *

A round pewter ornament hung from Gwen's fingers, causing everyone to quiet down. This ornament, and the next one, marked very trying, emotional times for Harry, and the quiet was out of reverence for the past.

"Remember how the logo was used later? Dad's Auror division was renamed 'Dumbledore's Army' and is on the robes of those elite Aurors," Arthur said. He had been one of those Aurors and still proudly wore his robes on Potter Day.

The family watched as Gwen hung a the ornament and then stepped away.

There were only two more ornaments that Harry had designed in the box. Gwen knew that the next one had no story, as it was self-explanatory just by looking at it. The simple oak ornament showed a wizard's hat, a wand and a pair of half-moon spectacles. It was beautiful in its simplicity and was the only one that Harry had allowed to be reproduced for sale. Proceeds from the sale benefited the Dumbledore Orphanage in Hogsmeade.

Gwen used both her hands to lift this particular ornament from the box and placed a tiny kiss onto the carved hat before lovingly placing it on the enormous tree behind her. Once the task was done, the little girl turned to her great-grandmother and received a gentle smile.

Gwen bent to pick up the seventh ornament and upon standing, the entire family recited:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"_

These words were memorised by nearly every magical child in Britain before heading to Hogwarts, but only those in this room really knew the boy about whom the prophecy was made. They were Harry Potter's power, his family. And that was reflected in the ornament now hanging on the tree.

Ginny stood up and walked over to the box. This was always her part of the 'ceremony.' Her knees and ankles creaked as she walked and her back ached. This, she knew, was going to be the most difficult part of the evening for her. Looking inside the box, she saw two delicate filigree ornaments that brought her to tears. She felt arms go around her shoulders and a kiss on her cheek.

"Mum, let me do this," Liliana whispered. "This is too much for you." Ginny resolutely shook her head and reached into the box, grabbing a delicate gold ornament with diamonds and pink opals with the initials 'B.L.P.' in twisted metal.

"My baby," Ginny whispered. Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a clear voice, "Beatrice, you were Daddy's little girl and my little angel. I know you're taking care of your daddy for me." With tears streaming down her face, she hung up the ornament that honoured her little girl, Beatrice, who lived just over eight years, the same age Gwen was now. Ginny swore a piece of Harry died that day was well.

* * *

"Harry! Harry!" she shouted from the Floo into Harry's office, startling him from the conversation he was having with his team. She knew Tuesday morning meetings were important.

"Ginny? What is it?" It was bad, he could tell just by the look on her face.

"Come to the hospital, please, Harry! It's Bea." The Floo closed violently and without dismissing his team, he Apparated to St. Mungo's.

He ran through the corridors, pausing only to hear the reception witch tell him which floor he needed. He didn't bother waiting for the lifts and Apparated straight away, knowing he'd be fined. It didn't matter. His little girl was hurt.

When he appeared, Harry's heart broke. Ginny was on the floor in a heap, sobbing with Liliana's arms around her.

"No," was all Harry could say. He slid down to the floor and instinctively knew that his Beatrice, his little angel, his baby girl, was gone.

Harry was never quite the same after that.

* * *

Ginny sniffed her tears away and took the handkerchief that her daughter offered, drying her face.

"I'm alright, Lil. Hand me the last one."

Even with her back to her family, Ginny knew there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Once Beatrice died, Harry made the mantel his place to remember her. Every year on her birthday, he placed a birthday candle inside a little wooden box. Last year, Harry added the sixtieth candle. Unbelievable. Her little girl was gone sixty years.

And this was the first Christmas without Harry.

Ginny took the fine golden ornament from her daughter and stared at it, smiling at the memory of her younger self on that first Christmas as Mrs. Harry Potter. When she first saw those ornaments nestled inside the box, she knew immediately that they would become the treasured heirlooms they were today.

* * *

Harry returned to Dean's studio a few weeks after their final meeting. He was nervous and excited. It was three days before Christmas and he wouldn't let Ginny put up their tree without these seven ornaments.

Harry took the stairs to Dean's loft studio two at a time and rapped firmly on the door, stamping the snow off his feet.

"Harry! Come on in! They're all done," Dean said cheerfully, ushering Harry into the brightly lit room. Dean pointed to a stool next to the worktable and Harry sat down, watching Dean head into the back room.

Dean returned quickly, holding a wooden box, and placed it on the table. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a key, handing it to Harry.

With a quizzical look on his face, Harry took the gold key and placed it in the keyhole. The box opened to show him seven ornaments lying in green velvet. He reached inside and gently touched each one with his index finger.

"Dean…Dean, they're beautiful," Harry whimpered, barely able to control himself. They were more than what he could have ever imagined.

"You're welcome, mate," Dean replied calmly, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have one more for you. Consider it a late wedding gift." Dean bent down and opened the bottom drawer of the work table and pulled out a small box, handing it to Harry.

"Dean, you've done enough for me with all of these."

"No, I needed to do this. I'm sorry I've been such an arse with you and Ginny. This is my way of saying 'I'm sorry'. Now go put up your tree."

* * *

Ginny Potter stepped back from the tree to look at the final addition to the family tree. Dean had done a wonderful job creating the reproductions of their rings and the delicate red ribbon that wove through them. It was charmed to never tarnish, never stop sparkling.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered before turning around into the arms of her two daughters.

As Ginny lay in her bed back at Grimmauld Place, where she lived with Arthur and his wife, she thought back to all the Christmases she'd had with Harry: their first as a married couple, Christmases as parents, then as grandparents and great-grandparents. And now, here she was, having her first Christmas without him. It just didn't feel right. He'd been such a major part of her life that without him, she lost the joy of the season. All she wanted was to have Harry back.

That night, she saw Harry. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her to come down to him. His hair was jet black, not the snowy white it was when he died, and his smile was bright.

"Harry?" She quietly walked to the bottom and found herself wrapped in his arms, strong and comforting.

"Follow me," he whispered against her lips before kissing her.

She followed Harry into the sitting and let out a cry. Standing before her was Beatrice, her parents, her brothers, and Hermione. Harry came up beside her and pulled her against his chest.

"It's time to come home, Mummy," Beatrice said, holding out her hand. "We've missed you."


End file.
